


Lovelier When We Fall

by claryherondale



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments (Movies), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Abuse, Alicante (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Alternate Universe - Dark, Angel Blood, Angels, Book 5: City of Lost Souls, Child Abuse, Dark Clary Fray, Dark Jace Wayland, Death, Demon Blood, Demons, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Idris (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Love, M/M, Multi, Sex, Smut, Spoilers, Team Evil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-01 21:36:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claryherondale/pseuds/claryherondale
Summary: Their father hid them from each other. He was afraid they would overpower him. He wanted them weak under him but strong against even the angels. He was right to be afraid.After Clary turned eighteen, Jace and Sebastian found the glamoured manor where she lived, a short distance from the one they had grown up in. Jace didn't share in the blood of Morgensterns, but he was raised as one, and the three of them had all been injected with a mixture of demon and angel blood since before their birth. They had been isolated from everyone since the death of Clary and Sebastian's mother, as well as Jace's parents. But with wings ripped from their backs, a combination of angelic and demonic nature that didn't settle into a medium of humanity, they were on the brink of wreaking destruction and birthing creation.Team Evil will rise."We are Morgensterns. The bright stars of the morning. The children of Lucifer, the most beautiful of all God's angels. We are so much lovelier when we fall."(Sebastian Morgenstern, City of Heavenly Fire)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is intended to be dark, as they have malevolent alignment due to their blood, but none of it is taken lightly. still, be wary. thank you for reading. i hope you enjoy xx
> 
> (does anyone get the Team Evil reference from City of Lost Souls?)
> 
> in the notes before each chapter there will be a content warning. please ensure that no part of the subject matter will be offensive or bothersome to you. i don't want to cause anyone discomfort with my writing.
> 
> content warning for chapter one: heavy parental abuse mentions

One of Clary’s first memories was of bruises. There had been a splotch, like dark purple ink, in the crook of her arm, and she was staring at it instead of training. When her father, Valentine, quietly came into the room and saw her contemplating the vibrant coloration of her pale skin, he cleared his throat and kneeled before her. She could see the darkness in his eyes, but she had been taught to match it with steely indifference.

“Clarissa,” he began, his voice thick and careful, “do you know what our last name means?”

She was wary, but she kept her words even: “Morning star.”

Valentine smiled. It was unsettling.

“We hold Lucifer’s name. The Angel made us fall from grace when he mixed our blood with that of humans. He made us weaker. I want to help restore the strength that was whittled away from us. We will no longer be fallen angels. As Nephilim, we will be just as powerful as Raziel himself, while still living upon the earth. It is the human in us that keeps us from improving the world.”

Clary kept her mouth shut. When he said  _ improving  _ the world, he really meant  _ ruling _ the world. Valentine wanted to be worshipped. He wanted everyone, including her, to praise him endlessly. But Clary had nowhere to run to, no one to go to, so she braved Valentine’s possessive control stoically.

Over the years, the bruises spread from her injection sites and frequently covered her body. Sometimes, they formed after she fell off a beam during training, but they didn’t all come from slipping and hitting the ground or bruised knuckles while she tried different fighting methods. Regardless, Valentine would insist that they were all for the purposes of improving her.

Still, she got frequent reprieve from him. For as long as she could remember, he would disappear every other week. As soon as she was old enough to ask about it, he told her that he had business to attend to and that she was not to question his authority. After a couple of transgressions, she got the gist of it. Valentine wanted her strong, but still bendable by him. And she was. She didn’t know how to stop it. It was difficult to overpower the only other person that you knew, and she was completely isolated in a manor on a hillside in Idris.

They were glamoured, Valentine had told her. Because everyone believed them to be dead. They were supposed to have died when she was a child and her mother’s manor burned to the ground, with her mother in it. Valentine narrowly escaped with Clary. Clary’s brother was killed as well—two members of her blood that she would never know. And there was no one else. Valentine explained everything about the cruelty of the Clave and how they had to stay away from Alicante, as the Shadowhunter government was corrupt and vile. He painted a picture of atrocity, which is why he trained her—so that she would be strong against the Clave if it ever came to that. He told her that the Inquisitor would have them both executed if they were found—that they would want her dead because they knew the Morgensterns were powerful, and their greatest fear was being overthrown.

It was why he wanted her to be a stronger Nephilim than the rest. It was why he regularly injected her with a mixture of angel and demon blood, to escalate it in her veins and give her a surplus of benevolent ichor, with the added demonic power. He had been feeding her the strengthening blood since before she was born, when she was in her mother’s womb. Sometimes she loved the high of the warring good and evil within her—the sweet excess in her veins, which gave every inch of her more power than she could ever wish for.

Her body was strong. It was the body of a warrior. She was given an extraordinary frame for the mind and physique she cultivated into being exceptional through relentless studying and training.

But other times, the injection sites were too ugly for her to bear, and the demon blood was leadened poison in her limbs. She felt heavy and broken, malevolence causing her excruciating pain. The golden blood tried to combat it and make her feel light, but it was an unyielding battle tearing through her body, masked by an exterior she had learned to make appear calm.

Clary aged in isolation. Every once in awhile, the weight of the silence was too much for her to shoulder. There wasn’t much around their manor—which belonged to the Morgenstern family, of which they were the only left—and the glamour didn’t extend beyond the border of their garden. She hadn’t left the premises since they had been disguised by a High Warlock that Valentine had coerced into helping him one last time: Malcolm Fade. He wove his magic over the land, so that it appeared as nothing more than rubble, left untouched. No one wanted to be near the demonic energy of the Morgenstern manor long enough to clear the ashes. They’d never build over it, anyway. It was akin to unhallowed ground.

Fade was the only other person Clary remembered meeting in her entire life, and their interaction was brief. She hadn’t seen him since the glamour was made. She knew he made himself forget about them; he had to believe that they were dead, just as everyone else did.

So, tucked away in the slanted hills of Idris, Clary made the most she could of the quiet. She filled it with the notes of piano music, which Valentine had taught her to play with precision. When she was young, he had discouraged her inclination toward painting and sketching. But eventually, he gave in and allowed her to have an easel that she could use while he was away. Every month, he burned her creations in the fireplace, but not after appraising them and telling her that her talent came straight from her mother.

Clary also sang to herself, to ensure that she didn’t forget how to speak when she had no reason to talk for long periods of time. She sang songs in an array of languages, all of which Valentine had been teaching her since she was a child. Her close alignment with both heaven and hell gave way to an expansion of her mind, and even the demonic languages weren’t too difficult for her to pick up.

When Valentine left, she would paint over her bruises in gold shades, trying to externalize the angelic blood. It made her a patchwork human being, standing naked before a mirror and watching the slightness of her hunter’s body. Her eyes were constantly morphing in color—they were always a torrent of coal black and heavenly gold, ever-changing in their mixture of prominence and convergence. But her hair, Valentine told her, was just as her mother’s had been: bright red, like a sultry flame ready to ignite the world.

She was destruction and creation, but she didn’t quite know how to handle either. Valentine didn’t want her to know, not while he was still afraid that she would break the strings that held her as his puppet child.

Although Clary never left the premises of Morgenstern manor, Valentine would come back with demons every once in awhile. They were far enough from the demon towers in Alicante that, with the understanding he had of the Shadowhunter country’s loopholes and means given by Malcolm Fade before he left for good, Valentine could capture them and drag them to the manor. He would leave them chained in the garden or locked in the training room as a surprise for Clary. He never told her beforehand; he wanted her to be unprepared to test her reflexes and reactions. Clary would have to scramble to find a weapon, which she always managed one way or another, and send whatever demon she was faced with back to hell. Runed weapons would activate for her, but they weren’t in reach every time she was stuck in these situations. Valentine would never help her, even when she was burned by ichor, so she would have to improvise—with garden tools, generally. The first time Clary had been met with the unwelcome shock of a demon in her home was on her ninth birthday. Reflecting back, she was somewhat surprised her father had waited that long before putting her in those situations.

Beside all of the bruises, Clary’s skin was crawling with runes. She had the Voyance Rune on her right hand, as well as a few other permanent Marks. Slight, silver scars ran all over her skin too, a reminder of all the times she drew on the canvas of her body with her stele. Runes flowed even more naturally through her mind than spoken languages did. It was her connection to heaven which let her write effortlessly in the tongue of the Nephilim.

Valentine left Clary right after her eighteenth birthday, and she hadn’t been able to will herself out of bed many times since. He had given her a triple injection as a present, immersing her in adulthood, and then abandoned her. She felt like her veins were burning with poison, eating away at more of her fragile humanity. The angel blood helped to counteract it a little bit, but not enough. Her mind was dark and clouded. She would survive it—she always did. However, the excess of the dosage took her a couple more days to come back from. Half of her arm was bright purple and raw blue-green with bruises, stemming from the injection site.

Clary was trying to keep the scar Valentine had given her on her other arm clean. It had been an additional present. He never wanted her to forget where she came from, the name of her blood, so he had held her wrist steady and carved into her skin with her favorite dagger. It had been brutal, but she knew better than to fight him.

She was gifted with deep, bloody grooves which would leave the morning star shape in its wake. He confidently told her it would look beautiful, so long as she didn’t let it get infected. She healed faster than most Shadowhunters, and Valentine sternly commanded that she didn’t screw up the scarring with  _ iratzes _ . So, instead, she just rinsed it and gritted her teeth while cleansing the wounds with rubbing alcohol before covering it with gauze. The skin was already beginning to piece back together, leaving fine marks more human than the silver scars that came from runes.

Strength blossomed once again in Clary’s gentle frame after the worst of the excruciating demon blood had seethed through her veins. She didn’t feel the need to sleep, so instead, she trained for hours and hours, until her knuckles were split open and she was covered in scrapes, cuts, and bruises, blood spilling onto the training room floor and getting on the equipment.

Breathing hard, Clary took a break. She rewrapped her hands and undid her hair so she could untangle it a bit before tying it back up. She was clad in a black compression bra and breathable leggings—optimal for her long sessions in the training room.

There was a sudden noise coming from the entrance of the manor. Clary knew it had been a week, and she was expecting her father’s return, but he wouldn’t be loud like that coming back. He was quiet even when he wasn’t trying to be stealthy.

_ Fuck,  _ Clary thought.  _ Why would he just let a demon roam into the manor? It’s going to make a mess. I’m going to have to have to spend hours cleaning ichor off the floor, assuming it doesn’t burn through the wood. _

She was more annoyed than anything else. She didn’t even take the time to contemplate what type of demon it might be, although the automatic assumption was that it would be a lesser one. She snatched up her favorite dagger, which was runed, and was aware again of the carving in her wrist. She rolled her eyes; it was inconvenient, especially because it affected her dominant hand.

Clary calmly walked out of the room, her blood beginning to sing with adrenaline. At least she’d get to kill, even if the aftermath would be a lot of tedious cleaning. She kept a light grip on her dagger as she walked down the hallway, but she paused when she heard people talking.

“What do you think is here?” 

She didn’t recognize the voice, but it was deep and masculine.

“Who the fuck knows? Could be anything. We’ve had Ithuriel and Lilith in our basement for our entire lives. A second manor might contain something even more unexpected and outlandish,” a second unfamiliar male said.

There was a shuffling sound, then the hiss of Valentine’s voice, sharp and cold but also somehow weak: “ _ What in the Angel’s name do you think you’re doing? _ ”

That was all Clary needed. She could tell from the placement of their words as they spoke, the way they hit the walls and found her, that Valentine was at the mercy of the strangers. They must have followed him to the manor. What if they were members of the Clave?

Clary tightened the grip she had on her dagger, feeling her knuckles split more beneath the cloth bandages, and walked quietly to the end of the hallway. She paused there momentarily and glanced around the corner. She held her breath, knowing the shadows would cluster around her enough in the bit of distance separating her from the entryway. They would see her if they thought to look, but they seemed somewhat unguarded for now. Clary was sure they could tense and coil into action at a moment’s notice, so she was sure to stay quiet, but she took a couple seconds to appraise them.

They were definitely Shadowhunters, unless Valentine had come up with a particularly convincing scenario involving shape-shifting demons. They were both young—likely around her age, maybe a year older—and they had such devastating beauty about them that Clary wasn’t sure how anyone might ever trust them.

They were close to the same height, but the one with platinum hair was just slightly taller. The other had hair that looked as though it was spun from gold.  They had the same body type, chiseled from training: taut, lean, and strong.

They looked like dark angels seeking earthly pleasures. They looked as though their wings had been torn from their shoulder blades and they were trying to find a way to reap vengeance from something between the seven seas.

_ Why are they here? What could we possibly give them? _

Maybe they were Clave members, but the pair didn’t seem very official. The picture Valentine had painted of the Shadowhunter government was corrupt, bureaucratic nonsense under the guise of authority. These two boys didn’t hold that air, but they definitely were cocky and superior. Clary took a silent breath. She was wary of them, ready to fight them off, and she wanted them out of her father’s manor. But there was also something undeniably thrilling about them, these angels who seemed to have burned into beauty as they fell from grace.

The white-haired one shifted, going toward one of the bookshelves lining a far wall. When he moved, he revealed Valentine, who was kneeling on the floor. His wrists were bound with electrum wire, and he was just as bruised as he frequently left Clary.

The sight send both a tinge of fear and excitement through her. It gave her slight happiness to see Valentine weak and in pain. But she wouldn’t allow these Nephilim to do the same to her. She had waited long enough. They would find her soon, and she wanted to hold the upper hand, in case they were going to try to kill her. It was a good possibility. She wasn’t certain that they would be able to overpower her, but they did outnumber her and they were taller and broader than she was.

Clary was strong, but she was also aware of her slightness. They looked agile, and she knew they would certainly be light on their feet as well. Still, their advantage truly was that there were two of them and she was by herself.

Clary maintained control and confidence as she stepped silently out of the shadows and into the foyer. The scent of roses that she had brought in from the garden earlier in the week tangled with the smell of iron and blood. It was rather enthralling. In the back of Clary’s mind was the wish that she could bottle it and use it as perfume. Mostly, however, she was concentrated on the dark, beautiful strangers that hadn’t yet noticed her.

The moment she made eye contact with the blond-haired boy, he gripped the hilt of the seraph blade in his belt, turning to the other Shadowhunter. Clary would have descended upon them and fought immediately, but she was jarred by the eyes she saw. Because they were exactly like hers. And, although Clary hadn’t met many people in her life, she was still aware of the science of genetics and the unnatural shades of her irises.

The blond boy must have noticed it too, because he whispered something to the other, and they didn’t yet raise their angelic blades at her.

Clary looked at Valentine, who was staring between all three of them with something that looked akin to fear decorating his swollen features—it gave Clary pleasure, certainly, but also confusion. She had never before seen him look afraid.

The wooden hilt of her dagger dug into her skin as she held it tightly; the tensing of her muscles sent pain through her forearm as the scarring morning star on her wrist was disrupted.

With her eyes locked on Valentine, though she kept the strangers in her peripheral vision to ensure they didn’t move closer to her, she asked a world of questions in one word: “Father?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clary, Jace, and Sebastian start to learn the truth of what Valentine has hidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god this took me forever to finish. i'm sorry, my dudes. i've been focused on self-publishing a poetry book so my attention got drawn away. however, i've already started the third chapter of this so hopefully it won't be as long a delay for that one.
> 
> additionally, i will put content warnings in the notes before each chapter just in case there's anything specific you would like to avoid. (i edited the beginning notes on the first chapter to reflect this & give a content warning that is only for chapter one & not the entirety of the work.)
> 
> enjoyyy
> 
> content warning for this chapter: mentions of abuse, implied incestuous sibling attraction (one-sided)

Before Valentine could try to come up with a feasible explanation for these boys who shared her midnight eyes—night sky black pocked with the vibrant gold of stars—the white-haired one spoke.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The blond Shadowhunter seemed less confident before Clary, though he still had an air of smugness. There was just a tinge of doubt there. Clary wondered if anyone else in the room noticed it, or if she was just making it up entirely.

“I believe that’s my question,” she said, taking her eyes off of the blond to look toward the one who spoke. “You broke into the manor where  _ I  _ live. Not the other way around.”

The white-haired Nephilim flicked his eyes toward Valentine. “He’s your father?”

Clary thought that was clear, but his question make her uneasy. “Yes.”

Valentine glanced at all three of them warily, as though he was waiting for the fire that would burn the world and reduce it into ashes. Still, he didn’t say a word. It was like he didn’t want to make it worse and he knew he couldn’t make it better, so there wasn’t any reason to try. The forthcoming uncovering of what he had done would unbury itself, and there was nothing he could do to stop it or make it any less atrocious. So, he didn’t do anything at all.

The white-haired boy appraised her with a sheen of distrust and interest in his glance. He looked at her from head to toe—it was a predatory contemplation.

“I suppose you’re my little sister, then,” he said finally.

“Excuse me?” Clary sputtered.

“He’s our father, too,” the white-haired Shadowhunter said. “Morgensterns through and through. Well, Jace isn’t blood. But he was raised from birth by Valentine.” He watched her in a way that made her heart race with uneasiness. She loathed being perceived as potential prey, and she knew that was how he was turning her around in his mind. “I can see why he would keep you away from us, though—why he wouldn’t want us to know you exist. The demon part of us might just not be able to resist, and that would fuck with his experiment. Wouldn’t it, Father?”

Valentine continued to stay silent. Clary couldn’t find the words to speak.

“Come on, Sebastian. You’re frightening her.”

Sebastian waved Jace off. “So, little girl—”

_ They think they’re better than I am, don’t they?  _ “My name is  _ not  _ little girl.”

“What is it, then?” Jace asked.

He looked uninterested with a placid glance and expressionlessness. But Clary could see the gleam in his eyes, the life. He was more attached to this moment than his tone and stance would suggest.

“Clarissa. Clary.”

“Bright, clear,” Sebastian said thoughtfully. “Alright, Clary, how old are you?”

“I don’t enjoy being interrogated like this. I’m not the one who hid myself from you. Neither of you are telling me anything about yourselves or growing up with Valentine as your father. Either way, I’m not the one who should be questioned.”

Jace shrugged. “She’s not wrong.”

Sebastian returned his brother’s nonchalant attitude, his eyes glinting as he shifted his focus to Valentine. 

“So, Father, do you have an explanation for us?” His voice was seething and yet somehow simultaneously light.

Valentine betrayed no emotion aside from the fear that Clary could see blossoming like the midnight flower in his eyes. It was the break of renewal. A new start. An awakening. The three of them—children of the morning star—were finally blooming in the grace of beauty, no longer closed petals smothered by day. Valentine couldn’t stop them from flowering now that they knew of one another. He had forced them into submission, bendable to his will, for too long. He made them strong. He made them  _ too  _ strong. The forethought of their overtaking had been surpassed by the misguided idea that his children would be too grateful to him for making them warriors beyond the dreams of any Nephilim. But to make them subservient, Valentine had tortured them. There were things no one even slightly human could ever begin to forgive or justify. They could see the means to the end just fine—none of Valentine’s children were ignorant of that. But perhaps they could see it too well, knowing that they were only ever experiments to him. And if they were together, they would never have to submit under their father’s rule again.

“No, my children,” Valentine murmured calmly. “I do not. I expect now only that you will see reason. You need me.”

Clary found herself laughing, which made Sebastian smile brilliantly while Jace smirked. Clary could see Valentine was well aware that they knew the truth. They didn’t need him. Quite the contrary:  _ he  _ needed  _ them _ .

“What are we going to do with him?” Clary asked. “I’m not sure I want him around. For all he preaches, he has quite the temper. It’s flawed.”

“ _ Clarissa _ ,” Valentine chastised, as though he still had any sort of upper hand over her. “I’m your father. I raised you all. You must have some compassion in your heart. Some love for me.”

Clary didn’t realize how little attachment she had to this man until this moment. Until it was tested. Until she had another option that held merit. He wasn’t her father. He was the gatekeeper—the cultivator of, not children, but the first subjects of a breeding of superior Shadowhunters. It wasn’t only the demon side that prevented her from loving her father. Much of it was, in fact, the human part of her. The part that was mortal and stuck to the earth and skewed views of morality, the part that could not forgive or forget. Valentine was all she had ever known, but he was never even present. Half the time, he wasn’t there. He wouldn’t allow her to ask why before, and now she knew. He was never a parent; he was only the part-time experimenter, cultivating her for the purposes of the best possible outcome. Even then, he had Jace and Sebastian to focus on as well.

“Father, you have never once in my eighteen years said that you love me without borderline torturing me beforehand. And it was never ‘I love you, Clarissa.’ It’s always, ‘I do this because I love you.’ But you don’t, you sick bastard. You love yourself.”

Sebastian looked at Clary with an immense amount of interest.

Finally, he said, “I like her. Don’t you, Jace?”

Jace smirked, golden. “I do.”

“Eighteen, huh? Guess we got an answer,” Sebastian continued. Clary met his gaze. “We’re both nineteen. Jace is just a few months younger than I am. Our father cut him out of his mother shortly after she killed herself when his father died in Valentine’s Uprising. Saved us all. Or so he’d have us believe.”

Valentine said nothing, so the primary attention was momentarily cast away from him. 

Clary looked at Jace. There was something about him that she was drawn to in a way unfamiliar to her. Her fingers itched to paint the contours of his face—the sharp cheekbones, the light in his eyes that made them glisten differently than her own did in the mirror or Sebastian’s did as he stood there before her.

“Is that true?” she asked. Jace nodded, once again feigning indifference. “What Shadowhunter family were your parents a part of?”

“Herondale.”

_ Makes sense,  _ Clary thought. She had studied all of the well-respected Shadowhunter families. She knew much of the culture and notable figures in Nephilim history. Jace’s influencers, then, were the composition of Herondale blood, demon and angel blood, Valentine’s upbringing, and having Sebastian be raised as his brother beside him.

“Such blood in your veins, then,” commented Clary. “Even before the excess of angel blood and the addition of demon blood.”

Jace grinned, his expression unreadable. “And in yours, too. Straight from Lucifer himself. Quite an ode.”

Sebastian crouched down beside Valentine, who wouldn’t meet his son’s eyes. “What should we do with you, Father? I think you’ve tortured all three of us more than enough. Should we return the favor?”

Valentine tensed. Sebastian stood up and appraised Clary and Jace. He raised his eyebrows, questioning.

“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” said Clary.

Jace looked thoughtful. “Mundane techniques won’t suffice. They’d be too easy. Not painful enough.”

“What do you suggest, then?” Sebastian asked.

“Demon blood. We’ve suffered through injections that feel like molten lead in our veins for our entire lives. Clary did too, I assume?” Jace glanced at Clary for confirmation, and she nodded. “Shouldn’t we show him what it feels like? What he’s been doing to us all these years? What it has felt like to grow up with heavy fire so intense that we’re never free from the pain—that we only adjust to it? He should endure just a fragment of it.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Sebastian. “Clary?”

“I say we make this son of a bitch suffer,” she replied.

Sebastian smiled, obviously quite pleased with his companions—both the one he was raised with and the newfound little sister that stood before him. “Shall we take him back to our manor, then? We can use Lilith’s blood on him. Make his veins burn.”

“Where is your manor?” asked Clary.

“Not very far. Other side of the hill,” Jace said. “It’s the Herondale manor. Fade glamoured it to appear as though it had burned down during the Uprising, as he evidently did for this one. Morgenstern, I’m assuming?”

Clary nodded. She was oddly nervous, and not because they were about to torture their father. She hadn’t left the premises pretty much for her entire life; she had been held prisoner under the guise of being protected. It was equal parts thrilling and frightening. But mostly, Clary was focused on the adrenaline scorching through her metallic veins. She was beyond prepared to escape beside these two boys.

Clary looked at Valentine with considering eyes, and he finally glanced back at her. He was trying to make a final plea with his daughter, but he was reliant upon a connection or mercy that wasn’t there. Her heart was dark. He had raised her and made up her blood so that it would be.

“What did you intend to do with us?” she asked him. “What was your ultimate goal?”

Valentine watched her for a moment, and she could see the calculation like a storm behind a calm gaze.  Eventually, he spoke, apparently deciding that the truth was his only option. He knew his children were too clever for him. He knew that lying would only bring more pain.

“The Clave is still a threat. They would have all three of you killed if they knew you were alive. I swear on the Angel that is true. I was going to continue training all three of you, but things were going to change now that you, Clarissa, are eighteen. I would have kept you separate still, but I was planning on having you begin to infiltrate the Nephilim. I was going to have you complete smaller tasks, take on false identities. One step at a time, carefully monitored to be sure there was no suspicion being aroused. We would make allies very quietly after a long period of time had passed, so that we could have people who were working on the inside to relay information to us. And then I was going to bring the three of you together and have you steal the Mortal Cup away from the Lightwood family. Their matriarch, Maryse Lightwood, took it from me in the chaos of the Uprising and fled. She keeps it safeguarded in the New York Institute with her family. The Shadow World believes that I am dead. They trust a woman who was able to defy me and get away alive to preserve it alongside her husband. I would have had you get in there and bring it back to me. You three would have spilled a bit of your own blood to turn the Mortal Cup into more infernal alignment, tinged still by the angelic sides of you. A superior race of Shadowhunters would have been born from you, the catalysts. You would be more revered than even the Angel Raziel. You can still have all of this, children. You need only let me live.”

Clary’s eyes flicked to Sebastian and Jace. They were both steely, quiet, and contemplating.

“But you see, Father,” said Clary, “you just told us your entire plan. Why would we need you to execute it?”

“I know Maryse and Robert Lightwood like the back of my hand. I know how to predict and manipulate their every move. I understand the inner workings of the Nephilim in ways that go beyond books and studies. I will be your single greatest resource.”

“He’s giving himself too much credit,” Sebastian laughed. “Our blood gives us charisma and cunning, and you’ve engrained it into us further. We can exploit and coerce until we have the entire world on their knees. You’re  _ worthless  _ to us.”

Valentine paled. Clary smiled a little bit. He had drained the color out of her skin through abuse, neglect, and injections far too many times before for her to feel any fragment of remorse concerning him.

Jace looked impassive but smug. He was clearly enjoying this, but there was an air about him that read as being continually bored. There was no vulnerability in him—only sharp edges. He looked like he was made of marble. Beautiful and elusive. Clary caught herself staring at him and quickly glanced away.

“What are we waiting for, then?” asked Jace. “We should take him back to our manor and inject him with Lilith’s blood.”

The trio was in agreement. 

Clary’s blood was like the sweetest part of a fire coursing through her veins—not the burning that constantly made her feel the rage and agony of demons, but the passion and excitement of destruction. She made sure to keep an indifferent exterior. Clary couldn’t let her guard down; she didn’t know if she could truly trust them. Jace moved to Sebastian’s side and murmured something in his ear.

Sebastian laughed and said aloud, “Are you getting distracted, Jace? We have more important things to be concerned about currently. Keep your mind focused. I’m able to, although Clary  _ is _ rather beautiful.”

_ What?  _ Clary glared at them. Sebastian was staring at her. Jace didn’t look embarrassed; he simply rolled his eyes.

“I was really thinking more for the sake of her being in front of Lilith. She might want to be in a bit more presentable clothing for that. I don’t give a fuck that she’s showing skin. The only scantily dressed person I cannot resist is myself.”

“Um, should I change?” Clary wondered, fighting the urge to laugh.

Jace answered, “Lilith’s the Mother of Warlocks. A Greater Demon. We did surprise you. I just thought it might be nice to give you a moment to dress how you would like to before we embark on whatever it is we end up doing. If you’re comfortable in that, Lilith really isn’t going to care. She’s probably anxious to meet you. I’m sure she’s aware of your existence, as I’m sure Ithuriel is too.”

“Alright. A minute, then?” she requested.

The idea of it all unsettled Clary. Lilith and Ithuriel, two sides of the same coin. They had been locked up for the purposes of the experiment that had been implemented upon her. Their blood helped shape her. Did that connect her to them in ways she should consider? Were they like family? Did demons and angels even have family? Imagining that reunion was quite the picture. They’d probably have to separate the angels and demons like divorced parents at a mundane gathering. Clary bit her lip, trying to stop herself from smiling at the thought. She locked away her less than serious analysation and remained inexpressive.

“Sure,” Jace said. “We’ll be right outside with Valentine.”

Sebastian’s eyes raked over her once again, and Clary thought maybe she should be more wary of these boys. They were strangers with the same blood. She would certainly be a match for them, but she’d have to be aware and have her defenses up. She wouldn’t allow them to blindside her. They were a team for now, but only the Angel knew what they were thinking about doing to her after they disposed of their father.

Jace and Sebastian dragged Valentine out of the manor’s entryway, pulling him along harshly as he stumbled from his kneeling position and tried to catch his footing. It gave Clary sick joy. He deserved this. The fucker.

Clary went back down the hallway, up some stairs, and into her room. She was quick and light on her feet, slipping through the walls with grace. But she had never felt thrill like this. Despite the fact that her life itself was an act of rebellion against the Clave, this was the first time she had defied her father without severe rebuttal, and that was more of a personal insurgency. It was retribution. And while it would never be equal to what Valentine put his children through, at least he would suffer. Where his experiment ended, their lives started. They would no longer be vetted and conditioned for results. Not to mention that she was finally getting out of the claustrophobic grip of this hidden manor. Knowing only four walls and a garden her entire life wasn’t enough adventure for the human, angel, or demon that composed her.

When Clary was in her room, she quickly took off her clothes and let her hair rain down on her shoulders. She brushed through it, put on a bra and underwear, and then pulled open her closet. At least Valentine had kept her well stocked with clothing. Between the two manors, there had been enough past occupants for her to have a wide array of deceased people’s clothing, even as she was growing. She was sure the same was true for the clothes Jace and Sebastian had. 

Distantly, Clary wondered if they might get to purchase clothing that was theirs alone once they left. It was an odd thought, and Clary chastised herself silently for having it. The idea of it was so banal and mundane that she nearly laughed at her own stupidity.

She pulled on tight, black pants that still gave her a wide range of mobility. She didn’t need to be very concerned with that, though; she could fight in anything. Clary didn’t give herself anymore time to contemplate what was happening. She was moving solely off of instinct and adrenaline, but she trusted her body, mind, and innate behavior. She didn’t need to think twice. She put on a sleeveless shirt that was low cut and had an open back, inky against her skin rarely touched by sunlight. Clary laced boots up over her feet and slid a sleek jacket over her arms, a light and moveable contradiction of leather. She grabbed her stele and placed it in her thigh holster along with her dagger. Clary caught a glimpse of her orange-red hair as she passed her mirror.

She was a sick angel clad in darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clary, Jace, and Sebastian drag Valentine over the rolling hills of Idris, leading him to the Herondale manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for this chapter: mentions of parental abuse

Clary met Jace, Sebastian, and Valentine near the garden. Sebastian was mindlessly plucking at flowers that seemed to wilt slightly as he touched them, while Jace was uninterestedly twirling a knife. Valentine remained bound and at their mercy. Jace was leaning his free hand on their father’s shoulder. 

As soundless as Clary was, especially with her Marks, Sebastian and Jace were still quick to notice her approaching. Sebastian dropped the rose petal between his fingers, already slightly less vibrant in its rich crimson color because of his blood. Clary had learned to be careful about that. She hardly ever touched the flowers from the garden with her bare hands, and when she did, she made sure that her mind was pleasant and soft. It combated the deathliness of the demonic part of her.

“Ready?” asked Sebastian.

Clary nodded. “Are you?”

He smiled wickedly. “I’m always ready.”

Jace and Sebastian each grasped one of Valentine’s arms and hauled him upright, his wrists still bound too tightly with electrum behind his back. They began dragging him along. Clary walked beside Jace. She could see the border of rocks her father had set up to indicate the glamour when Clary was young, so that she’d never pass over it. She hadn’t. She touched it one time; there was the pull of magic and a fiery green tinge to the air before Valentine yanked her back and punished her for the transgression.

She didn’t do it again after that. The magic was very powerful, she knew—it had to be to trick the Clave. Clary figured that it wasn’t entirely legal magic; it was darker than that, the kind of stuff that Shadowhunters didn’t want warlocks using for this reason exactly. Because they might gain power and become too much of a threat to their enforcers.

The border was still a good distance away from them.

“How did you guys get in through the glamour?” asked Clary. “Father always said that it wasn’t possible to come in. He told me that only he could get through because of a charm that Fade left him, enchanted with his magic. He said it would redirect anyone who didn’t have it to the ruination from the supposed fire. Not that anyone would ever try to get a closer look anyway.”

Jace answered, “We forced him to bring us here. The charm is basically just the warlock equivalent of key. It let us go through so long as we were in close enough proximity to Valentine. It works for both glamours. We just need to be sure to take it from him after this is over.”

_ Strip his body of valuables.  _ Clary was sure that was what her father was hearing. She was feeding off of his fear.

“And how exactly did Father manage to entrap both Ithuriel and Lilith?”

Jace grinned. “No one could ever accuse him of being weak, could they?”

“Just weaker than us,” Sebastian remarked smugly.

It was September, but Idris always seemed to have a coldness about it. It rarely was hot. A bit of wind curled around them, tasting of the near fall—although they hadn’t truly experienced the heat of summer.

“With Ithuriel, Valentine summoned him with intense, illegal magic and trapped him,” Jace elaborated. “Lilith was a bit more difficult. He first met her in a Downworlder club about two and a half decades ago. She liked to frequent them and have nefarious relations with Shadowhunters who were a bit more rogue than the rest. When she and Valentine met, her plan was to seduce him. He, however, turned the tables and seduced her. She was enthralled by him and his charisma. And it was enough that she dropped her guard, and he has kept her locked up with a pentagram since. Valentine had this planned out before our births, without your mother knowing. We weren’t the first step in this plan. We were just the catalyst.”

Clary looked at Valentine. He remained stoic through the bruises and flecks of blood on his skin. He was a mess, and he was afraid. But he wouldn’t show weakness, so he showed nothing. He said nothing.

“You know quite a bit about it,” Clary observed.

“Believe me, you’re not the only one who has wanted these answers before. Sebastian and I pestered Valentine for them for years. It never really mattered much anyway. It’s just another part of it all. He beat the questions that truly were impactful out of us before we could even begin to wear him down—such as, where he always went. And still, the answer fell into our hands.”

“We’re close to the edge of it,” Sebastian said, coming to a halt. “We need to glamour ourselves in a way that will be imperceptible to anyone even with the Sight. It’s not likely that any Shadowhunters would be out here—there’s no reason for them to be—but this would be quite difficult to explain if someone were to see us. And I don’t want to spill Nephilim blood here. It would become an investigation, and we don’t want the Clave looking around this area quite so intensely.”

Clary took her stele out of her holster, but she stopped when she noticed that Jace was taking his to Sebastian’s skin and not his own.

She looked at them curiously. “Are you  _ parabatai _ ?”

Jace smiled. “The bond is very similar to that, yes. But as Valentine couldn’t have the ceremony done by Silent Brothers, he had Lilith do it. So it’s more of a demonic nature than a normal  _ parabatai  _ bond. It’s still mostly the same. Just a little more intense in the wrong ways.” 

Clary wondered what exactly that meant, but Jace had already finished scrawling the glamour rune onto Sebastian’s skin. He turned to Clary. He lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing lean muscles and golden skin, until she could see the infernal  _ parabatai  _ rune. It was on his chest, opposite his heart. It was almost the same rune, but it was a bloody red instead of the black that their angelic Marks were written across their bodies in. It was a little bit distorted, too. A sickly parody of an angel’s gift.

“I didn’t know such a thing was possible,” Clary remarked.

“It’s only possible because of our blood,” said Jace. “And even then, without a Greater Demon like Lilith, it wouldn’t have been an option. It definitely makes us stronger, but it has its faults—just as the normal  _ parabatai  _ bond does. It isn’t a first, believe it or not. There was one other pair that Lilith first tried it with. However, they weren’t Nephilim; they were warlocks, quite a few centuries ago. She realized that she needed Shadowhunters to make it work. So, when Valentine gave her the opportunity, she was elated.”

Clary laughed a little. “What if she had killed you both in the process?”

Jace shrugged. “Then Valentine would have had to start over. Here, let me draw the rune on you.”

He waited until Clary nodded to step closer to her with his stele in hand. Jace took her wrist in his hand. His fingers were sleek and tender, and Clary was surprised by the touch. She hadn’t much ever had physical contact before—Valentine only abused her, and she hadn’t really met anyone else. Still, she forced herself to appear unfazed. Jace’s stele touched her skin, a small patch of it that was blank. He drew the glamour rune out on her, the familiar singeing of Marks somehow more enthralling than it normally was. It was the bite of adrenaline, the provoking of angelic blood. Found in someone else’s hands.

It went straight to her core. They weren’t invisible to each other, but only because they were close enough. To mundanes or even to other Shadowhunters that weren’t near enough to look twice at a little glitch in their surroundings—especially where there shouldn’t be any threat—they would be undetected. Sebastian Marked Valentine as well, and Jace lifted his eyebrows in request as he slid his stele back into his belt.

“You want me to glamour you?” asked Clary.

“Why not?” Jace said.

With her stele already in hand, Clary looked to Jace. He lifted the hem of his shirt a bit, so that unmarked skin was revealed to her. She tried not to gaze too intensely as she leaned closer to him, her eyes down so she could focus on scrawling the Rune across his flesh. She was quick and precise with it, and when she was done, Jace was appraising her.

“What?” Clary questioned quietly.

“More power comes from you with runes than I’ve felt with even Sebastian—and he’s basically my  _ parabatai _ . It makes me wonder what a Mark of strength or of stamina would feel like if it were drawn by your hand.”

Clary met his gaze levelly. She still wasn’t sure that she could trust Jace and Sebastian, and she didn’t want to be fooled by the flame that was undeniably struck between them. She knew that runes were something she was particularly talented in. Valentine had held the skill back slightly so that he could mould it into something that he could control through her. But it came with fluidity to her regardless. It was a language she understood far better than any other. She just had to use it scarcely around her father. But no longer. Her body would be unbound and runes would flow freely.

Ultimately, Clary decided it was best to just say, “I don’t know.”

Jace remained unfazed, though his eyes were fixed on hers like he could see straight into her veins. It made Clary nervous. She wasn’t quite sure how to process it. Vulnerability and baring seemed to be a mistake in any form, especially with these two boys raised by Valentine and given the same blood from Ithuriel and Lilith that she was. One with the same parents, one without. They were still strung together with heaven, hell, and earth, cultivated by a father’s abuse, control, and experimentation. He had shaped them through both nature and nurture. His influence would live past him—just not in the way he would have hoped. Was it the human and angelic parts of them that wouldn’t allow their abuser to continue to reign over them? Or was it truly the demonic part of them? Clary wasn’t so sure that there was any way to separate the three pieces of their configuration. It all went together.

“Are you guys done?” asked Sebastian.

He was watching them with a glint of interest in his eyes, though his voice remained neutral. Valentine stayed quiet. Clary wondered why he didn’t just out her gift—prove to the boys that they shouldn’t trust her. But maybe, just maybe, he was afraid that the three of them together would become far too powerful. Even when it no longer affected him. Was it possible that some ounce of him wasn’t solely selfish?

Clary slid her stele back into her thigh holster as Jace turned back to him and said, “Yeah.”

Sebastian and Jace began pulling Valentine forward, but he was complacent. Clary figured he had given up. He knew he had been dethroned; the dominion that he held over his children all their lives had now been reversed, quickly but forcefully. They had ascended into something far greater than he could control. And now that they realized it, there was nothing he could do to stop them.

Sebastian kept his grip on their father, but they didn’t need to force him anywhere. He was intelligent enough to know that would only cause him more pain. He had always been a torturer at heart, unleashed entirely when his wife died and he was thought to be dead as well. When he was alone with the experiments he called children. So he knew the ways their minds were working, though theirs were a bit more tarnished with vengeance than his ever was—he was doing research and creating warriors that would eclipse all others. The experience of the pain would be the same, but the result would be different.

Jace didn’t need to help Sebastian keep Valentine in check, so he stood beside Clary. Sebastian and Valentine began pressing into the glamour. The air warped a bit, becoming visible in the strangest way: it was almost like pixelation, just a scurrying of molecules that meddled with the environment. The magic was strong—it had to be to fool all of the Clave. It was resistant; it didn’t want to break even slightly to let them out of it, though nothing could be seen through. Clary saw the fiery green tinge that she remembered, like the edges of burning paper, flames reaching toward the center. It sparked, almost like the trails of fireworks that spun and wove away from each other. It was somewhat enthralling. Sebastian and Valentine pushed into it and came out on the other side, free of the Morgenstern manor’s glamour.

They were still visible to Clary and Jace, but it was one-sided; they wouldn’t be able to see back in. Clary hesitated. She wasn’t entirely sure why. But her life had changed completely this past hour. And while it wasn’t an unwelcome change, it was still a lot to manage. She was trying not to allow herself to think about it, but Valentine had trained her to analyze and be strategic.

And right now, it was just an ounce too much for her mind. This life, inside the borders of the glamour, was all she had ever known. She didn’t get a chance to ease into the world beyond. Though she was claustrophobic inside the walls she grew up in, the limited space in which she had roamed made the enormity of the world a bit daunting. Clary hated herself for feeling the uneasiness she did, and she knew she couldn’t be weak in front of Jace and Sebastian, or even in front of Valentine. But she still needed a moment to steel herself against an entirely new life, completely stripped away from the skeleton she had before. It was like being torn from childhood into adulthood without a second to prepare. Not that she ever got much a childhood, but the transition was akin to that.

Clary was very aware of Jace’s eyes on her, and it put her even more on edge. They had to believe she was unbreakable: she didn’t want them to think they had any chance of breaking her.

She met Jace’s gaze and snapped, “What?”

He shook his head defenselessly. “Nothing. Shall we?”

Jace held his hand out to her, waiting for her to take it. But Clary wouldn’t allow herself that help—Valentine had taught her it was too much a sign of weakness, to need others to make it through something that she could do herself. Although, in hindsight, maybe it was preparation to force barriers between her, Jace, and Sebastian, should they ever meet. Maybe he was trying to ensure that they wouldn’t become a trio wound together and completely trusting, because he knew they would be far too strong that way.

Still, Clary couldn’t let Jace and Sebastian see her as weak. Not when she didn’t know them well enough to predict any of their movements. She wasn’t afraid to step into her new life, past burning, green magic and away from the roses that she had spent her entire life growing, cobblestone slicked time and time again with demon ichor.

Clary smirked at Jace, who looked back with interest and daring curiosity in his eyes, and stepped through the glamour. It felt momentarily like the air got heavier on her skin, sparks of green flickering around her. And then she was on the other side. Free. Sebastian and Valentine were waiting there. Sebastian put a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet. There wasn’t much they had to concern themselves with, but Valentine had taught them to be precautious when they didn’t want to fight. It was better to leave no trace if there wasn’t any intent to face an enemy yet. And though it was unlikely that there would be anyone else out in this part of the Shadowhunter country, the ways had been instilled upon them forcibly. Stealth was an integral part of being a warrior. They would ensure that was kept. After all, it was how the four of them had survived all of these years since the Uprising.

When Clary turned back toward the manor, Jace had already appeared behind her. All she could see was the rubble that other Nephilim thought were the remains of the Morgenstern manor. It was close to the truth now. It wasn’t likely to ever again be occupied. Clary would have been happy to burn it down herself if she had been given the chance, but she didn’t have to when there was already this guise. And she felt a bit of the uneasiness that Fade’s magic around the glamour forced—uneasiness that the Clave would mistake as their own feelings toward the atrocities Valentine had committed. It was nowhere near as strong for any of them, who knew the glamour and had just gone through it. But it was still there.

Without a word, the four of them began walking over the rolling, green hills. Valentine didn’t say anything—he stayed perfectly quiet. The philosophies were in him as well, and he knew the Clave to be a greater evil than his children, his hunters who he wanted to take over the Shadow World regardless. The Clave would kill him as well. But with them, he’d have to wait through long trials and questionings. And that was on the very, very unlikely chance that anyone would hear him at all. Even if they did, his children could shove him to the ground and run from him. They could get away before he could even point Clave members in the right direction, or no one would hear him at all and Clary, Jace, and Sebastian would punish him for it. Bind his mouth. Clary might put a silencing rune on him, so that he wouldn’t even be able to make a last attempt at an emotional appeal or say anything profound before he died at the hands of what he had created. And beyond all of that, he had put so much time and blood into every inch of them and their blossoming into half-benevolent, half-malevolent fighters better than all others.

Sebastian and Valentine remained just slightly in the lead; Clary and Jace were only a couple feet behind them, walking alongside each other. The air felt more invigorating than it ever had before; it felt less clustered and trapped. It finally felt like she could breathe. And regardless of whether or not it was a matter of perception, the oxygen was reviving and every nerve ending in Clary’s body was alight with life in a way that was thrilling and purposeful.

This may not have been what Valentine had crafted her to be, but this was what she was made for. And though they were quiet as they walked under the cool sun, she could nearly see the energy and birth in Jace and Sebastian’s every movement. Eventually, Sebastian stopped.

Jace leaned close to Clary and whispered, “We’re just on the other side of the Herondale manor glamour.”

She nodded, wrought with momentary tension that she hoped Jace didn’t notice, birthed straight from his words against her skin. She controlled her body and tried to convince herself it was only the breeze that passed her by. It didn’t quite work, but it was easy to forget; they had more important things to focus on.

And besides, anything that Jace was sparking in her was likely only because she hadn’t had any contact with a male that she wasn’t related to since she had come into adolescence. It didn’t mean anything was real or held merit. The world beyond this would uncover so much more.

With Valentine right with them, they were able to pass through the glamour. It was more difficult to get through; the air was thicker and tried harder to keep them out. They had to press through it like tearing into nylon or elastic. But Clary grit her teeth and made it through the invisible barrier without a sound; they all did. And once on the other side, they were free to speak again without any risk, no matter how minimal. Fade’s glamour, with the strength of its dark magic, didn’t so much as betray sound.

All three of them quickly took out their steles and voided the Marks; Sebastian reversed Valentine’s as well. 

Clary looked at the Herondale manor, slightly marvelling at its beauty. It was a bit lighter than the Morgenstern manor, exquisitely crafted: cobblestone pathways, soft grass, ivory statues of angels, trellises of vines which were covered in bright flowers. The structure was more narrow, arching higher than the Morgenstern manor. It was made of stones, embellished with carvings of herons. There were crystalline windows, clear and wide but dark. It was aweing. No lesser than the Morgenstern manor, certainly. But definitely different. More different than Clary was expecting. It wasn’t much of a surprise—she knew that manors or townhouses were customized to every Shadowhunter family. Still, it struck her strangely, that her father was raising two other children in a house so unalike the one he raised her in, only separated by a few hills and the thick protection of two glamours.

It was almost picturesque, fairytale-like. But Clary knew that what went on behind those walls was nothing that could ever be printed out in storybooks, not even for children of the Shadow World.

“Are you ready to meet the mother of the demonic side of you?” Sebastian asked Clary.

She nodded, not entirely sure how to process even the idea of that. Having any sort of familial ties to a woman seemed very outlandish to her.

Sebastian looked between his sister and his infernal  _ parabatai _ . “Second thoughts, anyone?”

“Not a single one,” said Jace.

“None,” Clary added.

“Let’s go down and see if Lilith is willing to comply, then.”

The four of them went into the manor, Valentine’s head low as he tried to hide his trepidation toward what was to come. The entryway was open and bright, polished floors and paintings adorning the walls. Sebastian kept Valentine close—he was getting more and more tense with every step farther into the manor. Clary stayed by Jace as they went down along a hallway to the side, until they met the door to the library. All four of them went inside. The windows opened out onto the hillside and brightened the room, glancing off of the spines of books and uncluttered tables.

“Jace and I found this when we were quite young,” Sebastian told Clary as they closed in on one of the bookshelves. “Our father caught us before we met Lilith or Ithuriel, but he decided to tell us the truth. He led us down there and introduced us. It wasn’t as though we didn’t already know about our blood or the injections. We were bound to begin asking where it came from eventually.”

“That’s probably when he decided to tell me, too,” Clary realized quietly.

“Seems likely,” Jace agreed.

Sebastian pulled one of the books off the shelf and drew a specialized unlocking rune along the back of it. It opened outward, revealing the passageway to a dark, expansive basement. Valentine was taut—trying to prepare. He knew the immensity of the pain that he caused his children with the injections of demon blood. He knew it was agonizing. And they were planning to make him overdose on it. It didn’t quite seem like a pleasant way to die, but many Shadowhunters died unpleasant deaths. Valentine had just always assumed that he would never be one of them, that he would be on the other end of the lethality. Clary understood the inner workings of her father’s mind this way, and she knew Jace and Sebastian did too. It was sustenance when they had been starving for years.

Jace beckoned for Clary to go ahead of Sebastian and Valentine with him. He grabbed a witchlight torch off of the wall, throwing patterns of shadows and ghostly illuminations across the stairs.

Clary walked at his side. She didn’t like the unknown, but her father had steeled her for much of it with unexpected demon attacks and the like. She knew to channel the adrenaline into preparation, live wires beneath her skin coiled so she could strike at any threat. She could never be taken off guard. So, she did what she always did when there was any sort of risk around her—remained stoic and impassive as her blood sang.

Jace was only a step ahead of Clary as they went down the stairs with Sebastian and Valentine following close behind. Clary could feel Sebastian’s eyes on her, and she was tensed for the possibility of him attacking her as well. But mostly, her attention remained before her. They met the end of the staircase. Witchlights glowed softly in the basement, coloring everything a strange light with the mixture of clustered darkness hiding in the corners.

There were two pentagrams. Both were demonic, but only one of them was aligned to hell. Clary’s eye caught on Lilith first. She was shapely and had skin with a strangely purplish tint, very obviously not belonging to this realm. Her hair fell across her body in a long, sleek sheet of black which glistened with shimmering white under the witchlight. She was frighteningly, untouchably lovely. Clary’s veins were thrumming with the nearness to these entities that tied her contrastingly to both heaven and hell—the war she felt inside her very core, that most Nephilim strove to fight externally.

Lilith looked up at them, her hair parting and falling slightly away from her face—a waterfall parting. Coal-colored snakes protruded from her hollow eye sockets, but it seemed she saw them just fine. Her lips were a labyrinth of purple strands swirling through midnight, painted like an artistically, exquisitely bruised mouth.

Finally, she murmured in a voice so sultry but vile, “Clarissa Morgenstern, my child. My daughter. At last, we meet.”


End file.
